


chemical

by gigantic



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Kissing, M/M, Marijuana, Recreational Drug Use, Shotgunning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23787589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gigantic/pseuds/gigantic
Summary: Indulgence makes things feel brighter.
Relationships: Frederik Andersen/Auston Matthews
Comments: 22
Kudos: 104





	chemical

**Author's Note:**

  * For [landofpromise](https://archiveofourown.org/users/landofpromise/gifts).



Not to overstate it, but Freddie is a real amateur at smoking weed. He’s really, really, really, really bad at it, and Auston has a stitch in his side from laughing. It doesn’t help that every time Trevor starts up again or even hints at it with some awkward, strangled sound, a fresh giggle fit takes over.

Poor Freddie is still coughing.

“Stop,” Auston says holding his arm out toward Trevor and finding nothing to brace against but air. “You have to stop.”

“I am,” Trevor says, wiping his eyes. “I’m trying.”

Freddie manages to get enough breath to say, “I feel like my throat is on fire.”

Yep. That sets them off.

The problem is that Freddie can’t inhale. They started with a joint, because Trevor had a small bag of pre-rolls he’d apparently misplaced and recently rediscovered. Auston couldn’t even blame Freddie for that one. The weed was a little dried out by then. Auston choked on it at first too, unused to smoking now that he’s mostly been on edibles in the summertime since joining the league. Freddie bothers with weed even less usually, Auston knows. Two summers ago they’d gone through the trouble to make cannabutter that eventually became Rice Krispies treats, but that’s the only other time Auston has ever had the pleasure of doing this kind of thing with Freddie.

So, two main takeaways, right? One, the weed was dry. Two, having the honor of Fred’s company basically made it a special occasion. They couldn’t just give up.

Solution: They switched to Trevor’s tiny bong.

It’s the second hiccup to their half-cocked plan that’s led them to Chuckletown. With the bong, Freddie accidentally inhales too swiftly, encouraged by the water making the smoke smoother. Manageable leads to him sucking up some of the water.

“I’m sorry,” Trevor’s saying, still unable to contain his laughter.

Auston picks up his Gatorade and passes that Fred’s way. “Here, drink some of that.”

“I should’ve brought the bigger one, man,” Trevor concedes and lets out one big exhale. “Those small ones make disaster too easy.”

As Freddie gulps Auston’s drink, they rein it in finally. Enough to breathe anyway.

“Not your fault,” Freddie says. He coughs. 

Trevor’s expression crumples as he looks at Freddie, very precarious. Auston looks down so he doesn’t get pulled into another wave, but he snorts as Trevor says, “You’re so red right now. Red hair, red eyes, red face.”

It shouldn’t be funny, but Auston’s buzz has settled in pretty nicely. He’s blaming that. 

Freddie tries to shake it off, clear his throat. “I think I’m done.”

“Sorry, man,” Trevor says again, at the same time Auston whines, “Noooo. Do you even feel it?”

“Little bit.”

Trevor says, “I wish you had a vaporizer, Matty.”

“I might still have a pen somewhere in one of those unpacked boxes.” Auston wouldn’t know where to start the search, though. When he looks at Freddie, he pouts, distantly aware that it’s probably an overdramatic reaction. “I want you to feel it.”

“It’s okay,” Freddie says.

“Want me to shotgun it?”

“Like a beer?” Trevor chimes in, scrunching his nose. “Wait, no. Sorry, I’m high.”

Auston chuckles and kicks at Trevor’s foot where it’s planted on the steps. They’re sitting in tiers, with Auston at the midway point between Freddie and Trevor.

Freddie says, “Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s easier,” Auston says. “No burn, no water.”

“The water!” Trevor’s giggles push through again. Auston kicks at him harder. “Stop doing that.”

“Then _shut up_.” Auston takes the bong and checks that there’s still enough in the bottom after the mishap. He looks to Freddie before he lights the bowl. “Ready?”

Freddie frowns delicately. “No. Remind me what I'm doing.”

“You just have to inhale,” Auston says. “Like, I’m gonna take the hit and hold it, then give it to you. You just breathe it in.”

“You have to be close,” Trevor says.

“Yeah, lean in.”

Freddie does. Auston lights the bowl and dips his head to pull the smoke into the chamber, then into his mouth. Sitting up, he gestures Freddie even closer, so near that Auston can feel the air fan across his lips when Freddie sighs.

Auston releases the smoke slowly. It plumes at first, maybe too relaxed. He blows enough to direct the stream, and Freddie inhales just an inch or two in front of him.

“Hold it,” Auston says after he’s empty. Freddie does, waits until Auston says, “breathe out,” and then lets the smoke go. “There you go.” He smiles. “Your throat okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Less cooked,” Trevor offers, which makes them all laugh again.

Auston repeats the shotgun one more time, just trying to make sure Freddie has enough to feel good. It’s nice. The sun has been down for a while, and yet Phoenix is still warm enough for shorts and hoodies. Nothing is happening in the neighborhood, and yet they find more to laugh about.

Trevor finally stands to leave when he starts yawning. “Might be an early one for tonight, boys.” He holds up his baggy, one pre-roll left in it. “Want this?”

“You don’t?” Auston asks, already holding out his hand.

Trevor shrugs. “I’m about to get fresh stuff like tomorrow or the day after anyway.”

“Then yeah, thanks. I’ll hold on to this.”

“Don’t say I didn’t give you anything.” 

They say their goodbyes, but Auston isn’t in a rush to push himself to his feet. He stares out at the street for a couple minutes, letting his eyes wander over the scattered lights in people’s windows. His neighborhood usually isn’t that busy. Last summer, there were a couple of informal parties, but generally it’s quiet. There are a few families and other homes sit empty while athletes that usually cluster together during the season visit their hometowns. And right now there’s even less activity.

Honestly, thank god Freddie’s around. 

Auston looks over his shoulder to check on him. Freddie’s face is tilted up toward the sky. Auston follows his gaze for a second, and then twists enough to touch Freddie’s knee. “Now you’re feeling it.”

“Yeah.” Freddie glances down, half-smiles. He runs his tongue over his teeth, like the dry mouth is already getting to him. “I’m thirsty again.” 

“Come on,” Auston says, patting his knee and using Freddie’s thigh to lift up. “We got that lemonade, remember?” 

They drink a bunch of water and juice and zone out on the couch. Trevor couldn’t even remember what type of weed it was, but Auston’s guessing indica by the way his body melts into the cushions. Freddie doesn’t fare too much better, both of them like comfortable slugs in sweats. Auston’s sectional is pretty big, but two six-foot-plus frames means their ankles and feet overlap. It’s almost better that way. It gives something Auston to do without really moving too much, engaging Freddie in the world’s laziest effort to pin each other down while laughing about it. 

Freddie makes one mistake. He forgets that Auston plays to win, and they didn’t lay down any ground rules for this game. Auston makes himself sit up and reverse the way he’s lying on the couch, crushing Freddie’s lower legs with his arms and chest. 

“You’re such a cheater,” Freddie says. 

“How?” Auston asks. “Call the officials. It’s legal.” 

“Disqualified.” Freddie bends his knees, trying to work Auston off. Luckily Auston’s resourceful enough to angle further up and pin those too. Accomplishing it means he’s curved awkwardly around the L of the couch, half his ass hovering over nothing, but he beats the competition. That’s what matters.

Freddie surrenders, straightening his legs and tolerating Auston commandeering his space. They lapse into an amused ceasefire. 

The TV has been on for a while, but Auston’s ability to recall a single thing they’ve watched in the last hour and change is nonexistent. Right now it’s playing some kind of viral clips, the kind of fails he associates with bar flatscreens on mute. 

“Is this America’s Funniest Videos?”

Freddie tries to angle sideways a bit to see, but all he says is, “I don’t know.”

“I didn’t even know this was still on TV.”

They lose five minutes — or maybe 20 — staring at the screen mindlessly. Some of the clips are entertaining. He’s pulled out of it when Freddie says, “I kind of want more.”

“What?” Auston asks. “To smoke? Really?” 

“What did you do with that last one?” 

“Like you can even use it,” Auston teases, stretching and moving back to his side of the couch so he doesn’t fall onto the floor. 

Freddie bends his legs again, like he’s working the feeling back into them. “Do what you did earlier. The shotgun.” 

“Fred, I’m still so fucking gone.”

Laughing softly, Freddie says, “Then don’t inhale.” 

“Oh my god.”

“I didn’t have as much.”

“ _Okay_ , okay,” Auston says. He stands and raises his arms above his heads. He feels like he hasn’t used his limbs properly in ages somehow. Freddie just watches him until Auston extends a hand to help drag him to his feet. “I left it in the kitchen.”

Auston doesn’t want to smoke in his house. He grabs the joint, a multipurpose lighter and heads for the patio door, Freddie trailing behind him with more Gatorades. They head up to the roof even though it's dark as hell out. He has two random, fake rustic lanterns he turns on but not really much in the way of rooftop seating. They lean on the part of the roof that rises higher than the walkway. Using a long multipurpose lighter for one joint feels overkill, but it’s not like Auston has matches or anything.

“Come on,” Auston says, eyes flicking up to Freddie. “Here.” 

He hands it off. Freddie says, “Do it myself?”

“Maybe you’ll get the hang of it this time.”

Freddie rolls his eyes, but he tries. At first it seems like maybe he really has gotten it, more prepared for what it’s like, but he still ends up coughing and shaking his head. Auston laughs at him. He can’t help it. Freddie recovers a lot quicker this time, though, using the Gatorade to help set him right. 

“So delicate,” Auston says, setting down the lighter. “Come here.” 

This time he puffs on the joint, to make sure the thing is staying lit. Satisfied, he pulls in a real mouthful of smoke. 

Auston gestures for Freddie to move even nearer. Freddie leans in like on the steps, close to Auston’s face. He’s only half-lit, the orange-yellow lamplight mostly catching his right side. Auston blows out a stream for him, and Freddie inhales. 

There’s something different about it right now. No overhead light, none of Trevor’s stuttered giggling. Auston has time to notice the curve of Freddie’s cheek. The way his nose flares slightly. 

“Keep it in,” Auston whispers, when he can. They linger, hovering with no real space between them. Freddie turns his head to exhale, and Auston watches the smoke disperse. 

“Good?”

“Mhm.” 

“Another one?” 

Freddie nods. 

The nighttime air is still not at all cold. The wind isn’t even really going tonight, but they stay huddled together like it helps the cause somehow. Auston pulls in smoke and angles his head to give it to Freddie, pursing his lips. 

It seems like getting closer shouldn’t be possible, but Freddie manages. Blood rushes in Auston’s ears, the high kicking his heart rate up. His hands are starting to feel clammy. He rubs his free palm on his pant legs, and looking down at Freddie’s mouth feels more dangerous than it did a couple hours ago. He raises his eyes, but something about it catches Freddie’s attention too, and that’s stranger at such close proximity. Auston looks down again, the stream of smoke frittering away, and when he starts to remind Freddie to hold his breath, their lips brush, just so, just enough. 

Auston’s words die in his throat. He gasps, more of a sharp, small inhale, and whatever Freddie starts to say makes it worse, and they’re kissing. A pitiful “mm” sounds slips from Auston, three different thoughts flattened into nothing: What are we doing? Did Freddie even get any of that hit? Don’t drop the joint. 

Freddie shifts his head to better align, make it realer. They should be doing the opposite, right? They should be retreating, but he finds himself scooting in more, another soft exhalation betraying him when he feels Freddie’s fingers come to brace his neck, thumb sliding along the length of his jaw. 

Auston does pull away finally, saying, “Wait, wait.” He makes it long enough to stub out the joint and leans in again, picking up where he left off. If anything, it feels like it gets hotter outside. 

Freddie's bad at inhaling, but it turns out he’s really, really, really, really good at kissing. Auston’s hand paws blindly and catches the bottom of Freddie’s hoodie, crushing it in his fingers because he doesn’t know what else to grab onto here, what’s allowed. Freddie’s mouth parts, invitational, and Auston licks tentatively. He’s not sure if that’s right until Freddie meets him halfway, making the kiss a little wetter. Auston feels like he’s made of heat and yet a chill dances along his spine, making him shiver. 

“Okay?” Freddie asks, barely.

Auston nods, chasing when Freddie starts to shift back and really check. The high stretches everything out, not like an endless moment but like it happens and then echoes. Each new sensation rings along a dozen others from just before, and it’s like Auston can feel the press of Freddie’s mouth in waves, from his lips and radiating downward. 

God, he’s fucking missed kissing. 

He can’t get enough. Auston stands and moves between Freddie’s knees, rounding his shoulders to kiss him from a new angle. That it frees Freddie’s hands up is an added bonus. He runs palms over Auston’s back, sparking more thrills of fluttery feeling. Auston moans this time, still low but surer now. Freddie’s hand drops down to his waist, steadying. His fingertips bump along the top of Auston’s waistband, trailing inward, and it’s when Freddie’s starts to push underneath fabric to graze the skin at the top of Auston’s hip bones and up along his belly and sides that his breath catches and Auston truly falters. 

“ _Fuck_ ,” he sighs, lips brushing along Freddie’s cheek.

All Freddie can muster is, “Yeah,” and they linger in the silence. Freddie hasn’t let him go, hands warming underneath Auston’s hoodie, gently drawing small circles against his skin. 

“You’re really feeling it now, huh?” Auston says, and Freddie chuckles lightly. It eases some of the tension, but it doesn’t do enough to set them back to normal. 

“Guess so,” Freddie says. He leans back, and Auston has no choice but to look at him. “Want to stop?” 

Auston wants Freddie to keep doing that with his hands. A high makes touch resonate brighter for Auston. It’s one of his favorite things about a really quality buzz. He wants to know how they got here, but it’s hard to retrace the steps when his head is full of staticky, half-formed thoughts.

He reaches down to grab one of Freddie’s hands, taking it in his and stepping back until Freddie gets to his feet. 

“I want to go inside,” Auston says. 

He turns off the lanterns and ignores the rest. It’s not like it’s going anywhere.

Freddie doesn’t say anything else to that, so Auston keeps looking behind himself to check his face. Each time Freddie is sort of looking down, at their hands maybe, where Auston is guiding him down the stairs. Auston stops once, pausing long enough that Freddie lifts his attention.

He raises his eyebrows in question, can’t quite bring himself to form the words. Auston’s heart is thumping. 

Freddie squeezes his hand. “Lead the way.”


End file.
